The Best Man
by Nova802
Summary: He's going to be the Best Man.  Rachel's going to be the Maid of Honor.  There are rules about this kind of thing, right?  M for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: It's been a crazy few weeks at work, but I've been dying to write, so I've started a little something new. I'm tentatively thinking that this will end up being two to three chapters, although I have to admit that I've been wrong about that before. **_

_**My thanks go out to all of you! You provide me with so much inspiration!**_

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><p><strong>The Best Man<strong>

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><p>Hudson and the hard stuff is always a mistake. Really, Finn can drink beer all night long, no problem. Like who the fuck is going to notice when his goofy-ass smile just gets a little goofier? But anything over 7%, doesn't matter <em>what <em>it is, it's a _nightmare_. Tequila? He pukes everywhere usually starting with the taxi ride home. That kind of shit gets you blacklisted by cab companies. Whiskey? He gets in fights. Well, okay only one, but that was enough because Puck has no interest in taking on a bunch of drunk Yankees fans. He likes the Indians as much as the next guy, but there are some things you don't say about A-Rod in a sports bar in the Bronx. (Even if it's true.)

But son of a bitch, nothing is worse than rum, or maybe it's the mixers. If he's told Hudson once, he's told him a thousand times, stay away from anything that has to be decorated before you can drink it, but the fucker's obsessed with cocktails. Nine times out of ten all he has to deal with is listening to him talk about complete shit ("Seriously, it's like paper..._and it's an umbrella!_ How does that even _work_?") and that's bad enough but at least then he can just nod once in a while and then throw a blanket on him when he falls asleep on the couch.

The tenth time?

"I_ love _you, man! You know that, right?"

_This_, as Puck is trying to get the number of the sexy little brunette at next table. He throws her a wink before turning back to his roommate.

"Look Hudson, it's a little late to go gay on me here. Think of your fiancee, dude. Shit, think of the three grand you just dropped for that rock on her finger."

"Tina!" Finn's face brightens. "She's just so...wow, I still can't believe she said yes!"

Puck can't either, but hell, tastes vary.

"Yeah, she's awesome," he agrees easily, because it's true and also because hopefully Finn will spend the next half hour talking about Tina's tits and stop messing with his game. The brunette is eye-fucking him over her drink right now and it's been a while. (He's fucking busy at work right now, okay?)

"Puck, we've been through a lot together, like how you knocked me out of that tree in second grade and I broke my arm and that thing with the thumbtacks and...," Finn rambles on and on and shit, this is going to take awhile. Puck just sighs. For some reason when Finn really gets an idea stuck in head it's almost impossible to make him let it go. Privately, he thinks that's about the only thing that can explain three years of off and on Finn and Rachel bullshit in high school.

Now, of course, he's thinking about Rachel as he automatically checks the time on his phone. She's been done at the theater for over an hour now, so she probably isn't coming out tonight. It sucks, but it's not surprising; she's been kind of messed up ever since she ditched Eric-the-cheating-dickhead last month and Tina isn't around tonight to convince her ass out of the apartment that the two of them share. He notices this shit, all right? He's _observant_ and he's been tight with Rachel for a while now, their sort-of friendship in high school developing into something more when he and Finn moved out here two years ago after scraping through OSU.

"...Figgins gave _me_ detention for a week! And don't forget that time, senior year when you convinced Rachel that giving me a..._you know_...would be bad for her vocal cords and I never got a chance to..._not _cool, man."

What? _ Never? Totally _filing that thought away for later.

"...and I wish you would put the milk back in the fridge when you're done with it. Spoiled milk tastes nasty and it's probably dangerous or something. But despite _all _that you're my best friend, and I wouldn't want anyone else by my side when Tina and I tie the knot. Buddy, I want you to be my best man."

Huh. Best man. He'd be kind of touched or something, if about 90% of his brain function hadn't moved straight to his dick the second Rachel and blow-job appeared in the same thought process. But _only _because she's always been sneaky-sexy and duh, _blow-job _and...oh fuck it, who is he kidding? He's been thinking about Rachel's mouth and the rest of her since Becky Solomon's Bat Mitzvah party in 8th grade. She blew him off that night which kind of pissed him off (for several years), but looking back, he thinks maybe she was just oblivious. (Some things never change.)

The girl at the table gets up to go to the bar, casting a flirtatious look at him over her shoulder. It's a pretty clear invitation, but whatever, he's kind of over it already. Her legs are good, but not great and her tits are too big. If he wanted fake, he'd be trying to convince Santana that she still wanted cock on the side.

Besides, getting out of this best-man shit is going to take all his concentration. Don't get him wrong, he's all in favor of Cohen-Chang making an honest man of his roomie, and God knows he looks _good _in a suit, but the entire thing sounds like a lot of work and his wedding strategy usually revolves around finding out how long the open bar lasts and then scoping the room for talent. Which in this case means...

"Yeah. Fuck, I'm on board. Let's get this shit done."

While Finn starts tearing up and hugging him, he's wondering if the best man has any pull when it comes to setting an early wedding date. Because now that he's had a chance to consider, he realizes two things. First: no question, if the fact that Tina and Rachel have been attached at the hip since senior year of high school means _anything_, Rachel Berry is going to be Tina's maid of honor. And second, ignoring all that other wedding crap (as he fully intends on doing), the best man only has three real jobs: keeping the rings safe, getting the groom to the church on time and banging the maid of honor.

He's pretty sure it's a rule or something and Rachel, she lives for that shit, right?

Well, he can _hope_ so at least.

The thought of it puts him in a good enough mood that when Finn orders another three or four rounds (_five? _At some point he kind of loses track), he doesn't even make fun of the paper umbrellas.

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><p>So fuck, he's not <em>stupid. <em>This is Rachel Berry and with her it's never simple (never boring either), so she's not going to fall into his lap just because he wants her to. If it were that easy he's have sealed the deal _years _ago.

Still, and it might just be because he's still a little drunk, he can't help thinking about how awesome it would be to wake up and just _find_ her there in his bed. Naked for her on top and his hands on her tits, teasing and plucking at her nipples, while she writhes against him. And her mouth would be all swollen and red from kissing and her hair would be down around her shoulders and kind of mussed up like she's just been fucked. And then he's pushing up into her and she's throwing her head back and riding him and there's this kind of annoying-yet-familiar music coming from somewhere really close and...

_Shit._

He's totally still asleep isn't he?

Groaning, he feels around on his bedside table for his phone, taking a glance at the clock at the same time. Who the fuck calls at 10:30 on a Saturday morning?

"Noah? I didn't wake you did I?" Rachel's voice is warm and vibrant and excited and it does nothing to help calm the situation that's currently tenting the bed-sheet draped low on his waist.

"_Mmmmphh_."

Morning's not really his thing.

She starts talking a mile a minute about _Finn&Tina_ and _isn't it exciting, Noah!_and he's not really paying attention to because A: he feels like he's gargled sandpaper and B: he's using most of his available braincells trying to figure out how to to tell her that she should be his, like, yesterday. It turns out he misses some important details. Or actually, all of them.

"So is that all right with you, Noah?"

He risks opening one eye only to immediately squeeze it shut again against a stray sunbeam that's trying to stab him in the head.

"Noah?" Rachel asks again.  
><em><br>What?_ "Um, sure?" he hazards.

"Great! I'm just leaving now, so I should be at your place in about half an hour. Do you want me to pick up anything?"

He grunts something and she says a cheerful goodbye and hangs up. Half an hour? Fuck, he needs a shower. And coffee. And most of all a blow-job. But since he's not going to get that last one anyway, he settles for taking his cock into his hand, gripping it smoothly, sliding up and down, building on the curling heat low in his stomach as he tries to recapture his dream from earlier.

_Rachel dripping wet against him, teasing the fuck out of them both as she drags her slit against the head of his cock. Rachel keening while he surges up into her, whispering filthy things into her ear. _

He's stroking a little harder now, letting his thumb brush along the sensitive slit, keeping a steady beat and this isn't going to take long; the ache is _just right_ as his balls begin to tighten.  
><em><br>Rachel calling out his name when he seeks out her clit and then the perfect rhythm; feeling her tremble and flutter around his length as she lets go. _

His toes curl and his hips jerk into the air, seeking contact with someone who isn't there and then he collapses back and spurts hotly against his belly.

As soon as he can put a coherent thought together he wonders how much longer he's going to be able to keep on ignoring how fucking in to her he is.

Between that and everything else, he's a little late getting into the shower _obviously_, so she's waiting there in the living room when he gets out. Yeah, she's got a key just like Tina does, _for emergencies_, and you can bet your sweet ass she takes advantage of that whenever she's in the neighborhood and wants a clean bathroom. (Don't act so surprised: he knows how to keep his place clean, Miriam Puckerman runs a tight ship.) It's not like he cares, because she'll stay and shoot the shit if he's home, but it has been awkward once or twice, like last year when she let herself in to find him fucking some girl from Finn's office over the arm of the sofa.

Actually, 'awkward' may be down-playing it, Rachel hasn't sat on that side of the sofa since.

Right now? He can work with this, because he's basically naked except for this tiny-ass towel wrapped around his hips and her eyes are wide and he wonders if she knows that she's gripping her bottom lip in her teeth as her eyes roam all over him. It's not like a surprise; she's always loved the gun-show and the two of them have chemistry in spades, but whatever, he still likes it.

Then he sees what she's got in her hands and he legit _moans_.

_Coffee. _And not just any coffee, but coffee from his favorite place that's completely out of her way, and he knows without even asking that it's made up exactly the way he likes and he thinks he could totally fall in love with her for this.

Where the _hell _did that come from? _Clearly_ what he means is that he'll fuck her extra good like she deserves.

_Shut up. _

Anyway it kind of kills the mood because she's giggling as he moves blindly to the cup and takes it from her, collapsing on the couch. It feels like his brain function is literally being restored in liquid form and there's a comfortable silence for a few minutes before he croaks out a fervent '_thanks._'

"It's my pleasure, Noah," she smiles, "I have to admit that I did have some idea of what I was getting into after Finn stumbled in around 3:00 AM. Somehow he missed Tina's bedroom and ended up sleeping on the kitchen floor."

Sounds like Finn. There's a reason he had to put child-proof locks on the window leading out to the fire-escape. "It probably made sense to him at the time. Rum last night."

She nods like that's enough of an explanation, which come to think about it, it probably is. "Are you hungry?" she asks.

"I could eat," he says cautiously because sometimes her idea of breakfast involves eggless eggs and that fake sausage that tastes like pencil erasers.

"Good, I brought bagels too," she says, disappearing into the kitchen.

_Bagels? Daaamn, _she's laying it on thick. Since he knows how her devious little mind works, he waits for it and she doesn't disappoint.

"And Noah?" she chirps, popping her head around the corner again. "Get dressed. We've got work to do."

Does he know this girl or what?

She isn't fucking kidding either. '_Work_' ends up being a color-coded chart outlining the various wedding responsibilities she needs him to carry out.

"Planning a wedding takes a lot of effort and attention to detail and Tina and Finn are both extremely busy right now. Tina's got a gallery opening coming up in a few weeks and Finn been putting in a lot of hours at work," she says seriously, re-capping her pink highlighter and taking out a yellow.

It's true. Tina's finally starting to get hot after years of being exactly one step up from a starving artist and Finn does put in more hours than most selling advertising space for a local radio station, even if Puck knows for a fact that at least few of those hours are spent playing Angry Birds. He still gives her a look though because she might not be the lead yet, but she gets a ton of positive attention from the critics for playing Anita in _West Side Story_. And he's not exactly hurting for work either because a good sound engineer is always in demand.

"I know we're _all _busy," she adds, correctly interpreting his expression, "but they're going to need our help because Tina has her heart set on an early date."

Excellent. _Only..._

"Hey, T's not knocked-up is she?" he asks, a little worried. Look, it's not an unreasonable question. Just because Finn wasn't the one who did it last time doesn't mean he _can't_. Puck's pretty sure Ms. Holiday explained all that shit to Finn back in junior year.

"_No_," she scoffs, smacking his arm and adding shit to his '_to do_' column.

"Okay, _okay_," he mutters. "Hey! Take it easy on that list, Rach!"

Not that he really minds. And there it is, the answer he was looking for earlier is smacking him in the face: probably not much longer at all.

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><p><em><strong>AN: This story is based on a prompt from the LJ Drabble Meme: "He's the best man. He's got three jobs. Keep the rings safe, get the groom to the church on time, and bang the maid of honour." **_

_**Naturally, Rachel's going to make him work a little harder for it than that! :)  
><strong>_

_**Thank you so much for reading. I would love to know what you think! **_


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you all so much for the response to this story! It is so appreciated and I hope you enjoy this update!**

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><p>So now he's got Rachel's list stuck on the refrigerator with all the stuff <em>he's<em> got to do in order to get_ Finn _married off and there's a lot of shit on it.

Some of it he can't complain too much about. Because who the hell else is going to come up with a playlist for the music? (No way they're going to suffer through some lame-ass DJ.) He loves his friends, but their taste in music sucks. Showtunes? Some Latvian punk band that only uses percussion instruments? _Frampton? _No fucking way. So yeah, he's got that.

He's also going to be in charge of picking up Tina's parents at the airport. Jackpot! Mrs. Cohen-Chang is sweet and makes these amazing pork-filled dumplings that she likes to push on him like they're some kind of gateway drug to the wild world of non-kosher food.

And speaking of food, cake-tasting? Best thing ever. Seriously, he and Finn go to like four different bakeries and pretend to take notes and fucking stuff themselves. And then Finn just gives the bakers his 'confused' face, and they bring out more cake. He's pretty sure they would have gone for five but Tina complains that it creeps her out when they keep calling each other late at night to talk about ganache filling. Whatever. Shit is _delicious_.

Some of the crap Rachel wants him to do, he's less enthused about. Especially number seven which is innocuously labeled 'wedding shower.' What the hell is a Jack and Jill shower anyway? Is Jack banging Jill or what, because otherwise he's not interested. That said, obviously, he's going to do it anyway. Spending extra time with Rachel is like the exact opposite of horrible and ever since this wedding thing came up he's been thinking that just staring at her legs might not be the best way to get her.

No, now he's going to stare at her tits too.

_Kidding._

Or not really. Girl loves appreciation, and he's going to appreciate the hell out off her. So he holds her gaze a little longer, stands an inch closer, touches her more frequently. When he holds the door open for her, he crowds her a tiny bit, so she has to brush by him to get by. And she totally notices too. She's smiling and friendly like always, but when they're in a room together he can feel her eyes on him. And shit, it's hot outside, but those little sundresses: short, short, _short_, with thin straps that he could just ease down her shoulders and then the entire thing would slip off and pool at her feet. He doesn't remember quite so much skin being on view last summer.

Maybe she's trying to kill him. But if so, not until he's confirmed the caterers and done every other damn thing on his list.

Right, the list, the wedding: sometimes he forgets about that. He does make sure to bitch when he remembers though, but only so he can watch Rachel lose her shit when she thinks he's _'not living up to his responsibilities'_. That's hilarious, basically like senior year all over again when she decided that he was going to a four-year college if it killed him. Yeah,_ him_ not _her_. When he mentioned that, she said the world couldn't afford to miss out on her talent. (He's not going to tell her, but he kind of agrees.)

Over time, the line between his jobs and her jobs start to blur and that's how he ends up _shopping_ on a Monday afternoon about four weeks before the big day. He hates shopping and why, out of all her friends, she's dragging his ass out looking for some kind of 'non-traditional' bridesmaid's dress is beyond him. He doesn't even get the whole dress thing anyway since the wedding is at City Hall and the reception is in some crazy boho art gallery, not to mention that Tina is apparently 'constructing' her dress out of found materials.

It's his only afternoon off all week and he could be at the gym, or at a bar, or watching a game and where is he? Sitting on some crappy bench outside the dressing room of this vintage shop, which as far as he can tell means that the clothes here are _old_. Like as old as the prune-faced bat running the place who keeps licking her lips at him like she can't decide if she wants to eat him or fuck him or both.

Fuck, it's been forty minutes and judging by the running commentary trickling out to him, Rachel's rejected about five dresses already and he hasn't seen shit. Where the hell is she? Shouldn't she be out here, protecting him from whatever obscene thing is going on with the clothes-hangers at the register?

"Noah, I need you," Rachel's voice floats out over the curtain.

_That'll do. _

He gives the bat a look which he hopes she interprets as '_all right, gonna go fuck my very serious _girlfriend _all up and down your dressing room, so mitts off_ _lady,' _and head into the back.

And _immediately_ changes his mind about shopping. It's a good, good thing. Really.

Rachel's in this long, sweeping emerald dress that makes her skin look great and fuck there's a lot of skin to see because it vees low in front with this complicated tie under her tits and he settles back against the door frame to enjoy the view.

"So, is it a yes?" she asks with a confident smile. Rachel Berry with six years of New York City under her belt knows when she looks good, and she seems to take his eyes burning over every inch of her as answer enough. She spins and practically her whole back is on view and she looks over her shoulder at him. "There's a little hook here." She reaches back and brushes the fabric at the small of her back. "Could you?"

Why, fuck yes, he could. He crosses over to her and finds the hook, hands brushing her soft skin when he fastens it, and then he runs his fingers along the straps that cross in the middle, before bringing them up to her shoulders.

Meeting her eyes in the mirror (and pleased as fuck because her cheeks are definitely pinker than they were) he tells her, "_This_is your dress, babe."

"It is, isn't it? Unfortunately it's going to blow my clothing budget for the month," she says, wrinkling her nose.

"Rach, it's used. How fucking expensive could it be?" he asks absently, rubbing small circles with his thumbs, and thinking about kissing a line from there to the nape of her neck.

"It's vintage Halston, Noah, " she giggles and twists so he can see the price tag dangling under her arm. He steadies her with one hand on her hip (totally unnecessary, but hot) and reads it.

Wow. _Ouch. _ He got less than that when he finally sold his truck and yeah, it was a piece of shit, but this is a piece of _fabric_. Then again, maybe it is worth the money because this is a piece of fabric that she's clearly not wearing panties under. Or possibly just a thong. He spends a few very pleasant moments thinking about the possibilities when the scary sex-face lady comes back to see if they need any help. Now she's giving Rachel the eye, and he's pretty sure that what she means is help with a three-some, so he does his best to hustle Rachel out of there. Several hundred dollars and fifteen layers of tissue paper later, they make their escape.

And he's thinking that the whole thing wasn't all that bad. One store, one hour. It seems like his mother and his sister take way longer than that. And bonus, now they've got the rest of the afternoon to _play_.

"Hey, we're like five subway stops from my place," he says smoothly. "We could go hang out, kick back, have a drink. I'm pretty sure you left a bottle of that fruity vodka shit you like in the freezer from our last party."

"Oh I'd love to Noah, but this is my only day off all week, and I really need to find a pair of shoes to go with this dress," she says regretfully. "It takes me_ forever _to find a pair I like."

Fuck. Well, on the bright side the universe is back in balance because he's right back to hating shopping.

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><p>He doesn't see her all week, even if he thinks about her once or twice a day. Mostly naked. He's not even going to feel guilty about it, because today was so craptastic that if he didn't have Rachel's ass to focus on, he would have killed someone. Probably that talentless hack of a pop-princess who kept everyone waiting while she sent her 'people' out for a series of McFlurries all afternoon, only to take a bite and whine about the toppings. Seriously, he almost went all Berry on her ass and started yelling at her about the effects of dairy on vocal cords, not that it would have made much of a difference given how much autotune they had to use to correct her wavering key changes.<p>

Bitch wouldn't have lasted a month in Glee club.

Anyway, he's been working since nine in the morning and now it's 11:30 at night and it's still like a million degrees out. And of course since he's bone-tired, he has to wait forever for his train and the AC is out on the car he's on, and when he gets to his building those stupid college kids in 2B have puked on the stairs again. Basically, he's in a shitty mood and the only thing keeping him going is the thought of collapsing on the couch with a beer and the Indians game.

That plan is shot out of the water as soon as he opens the door to the apartment to find Rachel, Tina and Finn sitting in the living room, giggling.

Somehow he doesn't really mind at all. (Maybe because the tank-top and shorts combination that Rachel's rocking would put wood on a dead man.)

"Nooooooah!" Rachel calls out from where she's sitting sideways, draped over the chair, with her tanned legs looking a mile long. Tina's looks up from Finn's lap where she's busily trying to unbutton Finn's shirt with one hand (and he's really, really trying to _unsee_ where her other hand is) and smiles loopily.

"Hey man," Finn says cheerfully. "Guess what? We found a bottle of vodka in the freezer!"

Yeah, they did.

He goes to the refrigerator and gets a beer and it's a pretty easy choice to settle on the floor and lean against Rachel's chair, just letting the flow of their rambling conversation wash over him. Flicking on the television, he tries to concentrate on the Indians' closer putting the Twins out of their misery, even though he's very aware of Rachel's leg against his back and the way her hand comes to rest near his shoulder.

She waits until the final out and when he mutes the post-game commentary, asks quietly, "Rough day?"

"Pretty much," he admits, leaning back a little more.

Her fingers trail through the short hair at the base of his scalp and he has to fight back a shiver. "The sixteen-year old YouTube sensation?"

He kind of loves how she remembers that. "In the flesh. Way too much of it, actually. Flashed her panties to the entire sound booth twice."

She laughs, low and throaty. "The sixteen-year old _you_ would have loved that."

"Fuck no. I definitely had better taste than that, " he scoffs. He did. _ Mostly._ Still, it can't hurt to remind her of that. "Went out with you, didn't I?"

He tilts his head back to see how she's going react and she does look a little taken aback.

"For a _week_, Noah," she protests lightly.

He shrugs. "Hey, you dumped me. Not _my_ fault _your_ taste was all screwed up."

She narrows her eyes and is probably going start giving him all sorts of shit about that when a dull thud surprises them both. Finn and Tina are up. Well, Finn is anyway, and he's slammed Tina into the wall on the way to the bedroom. Probably hard for Finn to see where he's going with T trying to suck his face off. Looks like she's fine though: currently, she's pushing his jeans down with her heels, exposing a blue pair of boxers with little Marios running all over them.

Shit, he only wishes this was the first time he'd seen this. Go figure: Finn and vodka.

"Hey dickhead, bedroom," he hollers and without looking Finn gives him the finger, but he does fumble for the doorknob and the two of them crash inside. Literally. Sounds like Finn took out the lamp again. He pushes himself to his feet and turns back to Rachel, who's looking more amused than anything else. "They do this at your place too?"

She giggles and nods.

"Come on. We can listen to music or something in my room," he says, reaching for her hand and carefully pulling her up. She's a little breathless and wobbly on her feet and she looks up at him half-confused and half-suspicious, like she thinks it might be some sort of line. Fuck that. He's got way better lines. "Rach, you live in a converted brownstone: thick walls, good soundproofing. Here, not so much." Almost in response, he hears a high pitched squeal from the next room and then the unmistakeable sound of Finn's headboard hitting the wall again and again. "Let's go before it really starts getting noisy," he urges.

Rachel eyes go wide and she follows him without comment through the kitchen and towards his room, but she puts on the brakes right outside his door and leans up against it. "And what do you when you bring someone home, Noah? Try to compete?" she asks with a twinkle in her eye.

"You volunteering?" he asks , his mouth moving before his brain has a second to catch up.

She winks at him, _she fucking winks at him_, and sashays into his room, and you can bet your ass he follows, but she's already squealing and rushing over to the corner of his room, where his guitar is resting on its stand.

"Noah! Play for me," she begs, pushing it into his hands and then she curls up on his bed leaning against his pillows.

Fuck, he's dying to touch her, but he doesn't want to scare her off and besides, he's not sure how much of that fifth she's responsible for putting away. (He's not interested in being anyone else's drunken regret.) So instead he settles on the end of the bed and does some old Clapton because her dad used to play her his albums when she was little, singing a few of the lyrics at half-volume as he strums.

She joins in on '_Layla_' (don't read too much into it), and they've _always _sounded good together but there's something different about this. Maybe it's because it's late at night or because it's just the two of them, or maybe it's even the way the dim light from the lamp in the corner falls on her face, but he's got this weird heaviness in his chest.

It's not the first time, not with Rachel anyway, and he's only ever had one way of dealing with it. So when the last note dies, he puts his guitar aside and his hand on her ankle, his thumb brushing the hollow behind the bone. He doesn't look up, not even when she props herself up and curls her fingers around his forearm.

"Noah?' she asks and he doesn't have a real answer but he moves his hand higher, rubbing soothing circles up her calf, leaning forward to drop a kiss to the soft skin on the inside of her knee. She inhales sharply when his tongue flicks out and tastes the same spot he just kissed and her grasp on his arm tightens as she draws him towards her.

He looks up finally, almost nervous, and her eyes are dark and her hair is tousled and her lips are parted and_ fuck _regrets; suddenly nothing is as important as kissing her. His lips find hers and then his head is buzzing with the soft and sweet burn of his mouth tilted over hers. It heats up quickly, just like it always did, and soon they're exploring each other, trading control back and forth, tongues touching and then retreating before starting the teasing dance again.

It's heady and breathless and he moans when she takes his bottom lip between her teeth and nips, the sensation sending a shock all through him and _shit_, he can feel himself harden against her leg in response.

"Love it when you do that. I almost forgot," he mutters against her jaw, kissing a trail her to ear and sliding one hand to the edge of her shorts, dipping beneath to trace the lace edge of her panties.

"It's been a long time," she gasps, arching up against his fingers, while trying to tug his t-shirt over his head, yanking at it impatiently and throwing it to the floor.

"_Too long_," he says as he presses one finger against the damp fabric between her legs. "And I never got to do everything I wanted to do with you." He drops his head to her chest and mouths at one nipple through the thin fabric of her tank top, wetting it and then sucking, feeling it harden even through the material. "Never got to look at and kiss and touch those gorgeous tits."

"Feels good," she breathes and he watches as her hand drifts to her other breast, her fingers tightening around her nipple and teasing it and pinching it to a peak.

"So fucking hot," he groans. "Never got to do this either." He works his hand into his panties and she's so hot and wet and perfect, it's all he can do not to grind into her leg like a teenager as he slides one finger up into her. "God, _baby_, you're soaked."

"Wait, Noah, wait," she pants into his shoulder.

_Shit._ He buries a groan and pushes himself off her, but she doesn't yell, or leave. Instead she comes up to her knees, just inches from him and peels her shirt off, and his head is...he can't take his eyes off her, or his hands, or his mouth and he takes one peak into mouth, laving it with his tongue, fingers gliding back and forth along her spine, pulling her in closer. Her hands are moving between them, playing with the button of his shorts, carefully undoing his zip and sliding her hand inside to stroke his length back and forth.

"Fuck, _Rachel_." His hips thrust into her hand when she passes over the sensitive tip, and he captures her hand and pulls away before he loses it. He shrugs his shorts off and then eyes gleaming, lays her back on his bed. "I want to see you."

He finishes undressing her, sliding her shorts and panties off her gorgeous ass and there she is, propped up on her elbows, legs slightly parted and he can see the shine of arousal clinging to her skin.

"Well?" she asks boldly, undulating slightly under his gaze.

She's fucking amazing, every inch of her.

"Even better than I imagined," he says, touching her lightly, drawing imaginary lines on her thigh, tracing her ribcage just under her breast, feeling the rise and fall of her chest as her rapid breaths match his own.

"You imagined me?" she asks, spreading her legs more fully and pulling him impatiently in between them. "You imagined this?"

_Hell yes._Probably better not to go into too much detail though.

"Baby, _all the fucking time_." He's hovering above her now, gripping one thigh almost roughly and as she pushes up towards him, his cock brushes against her slick pussy and he just wants to sink into her. _Condom._A condom would be a good idea. Scrabbling through his bedside drawer, he finds one and hands it to her because he wants her hands on him again and besides he needs to know that she's as in to this as he is.

She smiles, eyes hooded, and it's so fucking seductive that he can't help kissing her again, thrusting his tongue alongside hers and then of course, he has to tear his mouth away so he can watch when he feels her slide it on, his forehead pressed to hers as she smooths it all the way down.

"Noah," she says quietly as she shifts restlessly underneath him.

"Rachel?" he murmurs, kissing her jaw, her hairline, the hollow behind her ear.

"I want you. I want you inside me. _Please_."

He groans and settles fully between her thighs and then he's slowly pressing in, an inch at a time. And fuck, she's so hot and tight around him that he just wants to pound into her, but instead, he bottoms out, shuddering, waiting for her response.

She calls out his name, and then, "_more_," her nails digging in slightly, pushing back and that's it, what he wants, what he's waiting for. He pulls out, snaps back in hard, loving the gasp she lets out, and the way she tries to bring him closer with her heels against his ass.

Settling into a rhythm, he guides one of her legs up over his elbow and he has to grit his teeth against the sensation, how good it is and how much he wants her. Her hands are everywhere she can reach and her back is arching, and her nipples are right there for him to lick and suck and nip, so he does, wrenching a moan from her.

Fuck, it doesn't seem like long, not nearly long enough until she's shaking and fluttering against him, so he flicks her clit gently, rubbing alongside it, and she's falling over the edge, bucking up and crying out against his shoulder. And watching that, and just _her_, all heat and slickness and the smell of sex mixed in with her perfume, it's all he can take and with two or three sharp jerks, he buries himself in her, pulsing into the condom, and she rubs his scalp gently as he shakes.

After, they're both quiet and it kind of freaks him out, but when he gets rid of the condom and turns out the light, she's right there, curling up under the sheet with him, head on his chest. Her hair tickles, but whatever, he's not inclined to move, maybe not ever again.

He falls asleep to the sound of her breathing.

When he wakes up the next morning, she's gone.

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><p><em><strong>AN: Yes? No? I'd love your feedback if you're so inclined. **_


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you all so much for reading, reviewing, etc.** **Your feedback is so appreciated!**

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><p>He doesn't care.<p>

Why the fuck would be care? Shit, if it were anyone else, he'd be tempted to send them a thank-you note because here's the thing: he's a fucking _expert _at hit and run. Really, he's got a million excuses: work, illness, a family event. And believe him, it takes balls of steel to plead a family event at four AM with a pissed-off blonde throwing shit at your head. Hell, he's even got Finn trained to set off the fire alarm, or actually just try to make to toast under the broiler, but it works out to be the same thing.

So Rachel taking off before the sheets get cold? Means _nothing _in the grand scheme of things.  
><em><br>Still. _

It _is _kind of rude way to treat a friend.

_This_ is why he doesn't fuck friends. He fucks girls he knows from around, he fucks acquaintances, or even better, the acquaintances of acquaintances. That way, everyone knows what the deal is and nobody is left wondering if the other person needed to borrow a shirt or something (_fucking outfit, ninety percent naked_), or if they managed to find a taxi-cab when it was barely light out, or even if that other person woke up feeling like shit with a hangover. (She _hates _being hungover, a fact he's known since high school and she'll lie in bed and moan and act all dramatic about it, but the only thing that really makes her feel better is Gatorade cut with 7-Up. He'd bet a million dollars she doesn't have either at her place.)

She doesn't want to spend the night? Fine. But the _friendly_ thing to do would have been to wake him up and say goodbye, or text him to let him know she got back home safe. Hell, the really friendly (and sensible) thing to do would have been to hit him up for another round before she left.

So if he's pissed off about anything, (and he's beginning to think from the way he's clenching his jaw and also from the way he almost punched the wall, that maybe he _is _pissed off) it's because it's just fucking bad manners.

He slams out of his bedroom, grunts at Finn and Tina who look up at him in surprise while eating cereal in the kitchen and almost fucking scalds himself in the shower. It's not even worth thinking about since he doesn't even know what Rachel's deal is. (Is she mad? Is she freaking out? His money is on freaking out.)

Tina's gone when he gets out of the shower and Finn just pushes the cereal box and milk towards him. He slumps into a chair and pours some out, hoping that Finn won't feel the need to make conversation.

Fine. He's _met _Finn, so he knows that isn't going to happen.

"Youtube girl again today?" Finn mumbles through a mouthful of cereal, either oblivious to or ignoring his mood.

"Yeah," he says shortly. Shit, he'd forgotten all about that. His day is just getting better and better.

"Jesus, you should have heard Rachel last night. She delivered this _epic_ rant about your talents being wasted. I tried to tell her that as long as you got to go to work in jeans and a ratty concert t-shirt you were good, and she nearly took my head off. _Hilarious_, dude."

She did? Not entirely surprising, because Rachel appreciates the technical aspects of what he does better than just about anyone he knows, but you know, it's _nice_ for about three seconds until he remembers that his fucking sheets _smell _like her and she took off without a word. And then, shit, he's still pissed, but at the same time he can't help barking out an unwilling laugh because having been on the receiving end of a few of those rants, he can absolutely picture it. There was probably stomping.

Finn's brow is starting to cloud and he realizes he hasn't responded yet, so he lets something fly randomly. "Jealous much Hudson? Hey, 1987 called. It wants your sports-jacket back."

"Hey!" Finn complains, "Burt got me this jacket for Christmas!" With a quick glare, he surreptitiously fingers his lapel before continuing. "Anyway, Tina wanted to know if Rachel made it home okay last night. I was going to offer her the couch...," here his face changes and Puck recognizes _disappointedFinn_, "but you know she doesn't like sleeping on our couch any more."

What? Like that story wasn't going to get out.

"She's fine," he says, pushing his bowl away. He's not hungry.

When he goes back into his room, he finally sees it. Like he said, he keeps his shit neat, so usually when things get changed around, he notices right away. Sue him, he was distracted. The guitar that he left on the floor last night has been moved back to its stand and there's a little piece of yellow lined paper from the pad he keeps on his desk tucked between the strings at the neck.

He almost doesn't bother with it; it's not like it's going to change anything. And anyway, if she's just telling him to go to hell, maybe he's just better off not knowing. He throws on some clothes (shorts and a short-sleeve shirt with _buttons_, fuck you very much, Hudson), grabs his phone and wallet and heads out the door. He's almost at the stairs before he heads back and he's telling himself it's because it feels too much like pussying out, but truthfully, it's because he just needs to know. He yanks it out and forces himself to read it.

And then he re-reads it three times.  
><em><br>Noah,  
><em>

_Sorry I had to run! There's a special rehearsal for the understudies this morning and I thought I should be there in case I'm needed! We should have lunch this week to discuss the shower. Let's skip the Carnegie, they're always so rude there and charging an extra three dollars for sharing sandwiches is absolutely outrageous! What about that kosher deli you like on 33rd? I love their soups and I'm sure your mother would feel better knowing that you have hot brisket somewhere in your system. Thursday or maybe Friday? I'll text you. _

_Rachel_

Brisket? They _finally_ get horizontal after years of dancing around this _thing_ they've got going and she wants to talk about _brisket_? Is she fucking kidding him?

As for the rest of it, great. Fucking fantastic. Obviously, she's just fine with everything, not a freak-out in sight.

(So why the hell does he still feel like shit?)

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><p>He throws himself into work over the next few days, but it's hard not to think of her when she apparently uses her key to come in while he's gone to dump off a load of wedding shit. Seriously, what are they going to do with <em>five hundred<em> tiny candles and matching glass holders? He sure as hell hopes that Tina's 'found materials' aren't flammable. And then of course, he sees that Rachel's also dropped off a fire-extinguisher. (Which leads to thoughts of hot Rachel, and then Rachel dancing in fire-retardant foam, and that leads to him jerking off in the shower to her _again_. Fuck.)

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><p>She texts him with a date and time for lunch when he's in the booth and can't respond. He shoots her back an acceptance when he knows she's performing.<p>

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><p>He yells at the Ben-the-intern when the kid loses a crucial take from a piece they're layering together for a well-known jazz trio. It was a stupid mistake, but Ben already knew that, plus he volunteered to show up early to fix the problem. He throws a bag of doughnuts on the kid's desk when he comes in the next morning because it's a shitty thing to yell at someone when that's not even what you're really pissed about.<p>

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><p>That black and white polka-dotted dress is visible from like half a block away, and when he gets a little closer he can see that her sandals match and her hair is pulled back neatly in a headband. If the whole effect is meant to be cute and kind of girlish, it's missing the mark with him because all he can think of is the tiny noise she made when he kissed that spot on the inside of her knee, exactly where the hem hits. She waves when she sees him and for just a second it's awkward, but then she reaches up and kisses his cheek, just like she has every other time she's seen him for the past two years. (It <em>does <em>send a little spark racing through him, but then that's happened every time too, so no big thing.)

She immediately launches into this complicated story about almost being late because the guy who plays Bernardo is in love with the head costume designer and he keeps messing up everyone's fittings so the guy keeps having to come back in. Puck laughs because he's met 'Bernardo' at a few cast parties and the guy is hilarious, almost as crazy as Rachel and anyway, he wouldn't be at all surprised if the whole scheme was Rachel's idea in the first place. And true, saying he's got whiplash from this week is an massive understatement, but right at this second it almost doesn't matter. He likes spending time with her and maybe he still hasn't totally figured out who Tommy Tune is, but he's always kind of liked listening to her talk.

Of course that was _before_ she orders her soup and then spends thirty minutes going through the pros and cons of _every _other item on the menu, even after he orders the pastrami on rye. She then provides a detailed analysis of what kind of mustard he should use on his sandwich (whole grain, not Dijon in case you're wondering) and polls the people sitting at the surrounding tables to find out if the sour pickles are sour enough.

By the time they finish their food, she's on to the wedding, and she's five minutes into a monologue about floral centerpieces when he realizes that she's not even going to acknowledge _it_. Or _them_. Whatever.

Fuck that.

"Really Rachel? This is how you're trying to play this off with me?" he demands, cutting off some babble about petals threaded through lily grass that she's spouting.

Her eyes narrow just a fraction of an inch. It's the look she gets when he starts going off-script which he knows drives her batshit.

Hold on. Off-script?_ Ohhhhhh. _Suddenly, this enormous wave of relief floods through him, but he's not going to try to analyze that right now, instead focusing on the gorgeous girl fidgeting in the seat opposite him.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Noah," she says coolly, but her eyes drop to her lap.

Look, he's watched her onstage enough times to know that Rachel Berry has come a hell of a long way from '_Run Joey Run_'. That said, now that she's right here across the table from him, there's no fucking way that she's a good enough actress to get this one past him.

"You're freaking out," he says flatly. "You're panicking about Monday night and all this brisket and pickles and wedding shit is just you deflecting or something."

She looks incredulous and makes a scoffing noise. He grins because he's seen it all before.

"The wedding is in three weeks in case you haven't noticed!" she huffs, smoothing her hair and checking her immaculate manicure.

He crosses his arms and leans back in his seat.

"And I happen to think that informed decision making is very important. How can you enjoy your food without thoroughly considering the options? Besides, the pickles really aren't sour enough!" she complains.

He raises one eye-brow.

She sighs noisily. "Noah, I...I think that our timing is off and while I certainly don't regret what happened between us, any sort of repeat performance would just _complicate _things. Honestly, I think it might be best if we both tried to forget about it."

"No," he says firmly.

"What?" she splutters.

"No. I think_ timing _is a bullshit excuse. No, I'm not going to forget about it. And no, I don't think you want to forget about it either. "

"I don't think you get to say no!"

"I totally get to say no. S'matter of fact, I'm picturing about you naked right now."

Or scratch that, he's actually picturing her in one of his dress-shirts, and she's looking at him through her lashes as she slowly undoes the buttons and lets it slide off her shoulders and onto his floor...and okay, _now _she's naked.

"Noah!" she almost shrieks, looking around wildly to see if anyone is listening.

"Yeah, just like that baby," he teases, watching her closely as her eyes flash and her cheeks turn pink and _right there_, her tongue darts out to wet her upper lip.

"Noah," she hisses much more quietly. "Just stop."

"Stop what?" he asks softly, leaning in so that his knees nudge hers under the table. "Stop thinking what it felt like to have your body practically _vibrating _under mine? Stop thinking about how amazing it was to be inside you?"

Fuck, just thinking about it is enough to make him start to harden, that and the way she's squirming in her seat, her eyes wide. He reaches across for her hand and carefully strokes his thumb along the soft skin at the inside of her wrist, holding back a groan when she inhales hard.

"And what about you, Rach?" he asks, "Ignore all the other shit for a minute, do _you_ want to forget it? Forget about my mouth and my fingers and how wet you got and how good it felt?"

There's a long pause and his stupid heart is drumming in his ears so loud that he can barely hear her quiet '_no_'.

He slides his hand to cup her cheek, his fingertips brushing her jawline and the hollow behind her ear and when she meets him halfway, pressing against the small table, he finds her mouth easily. Her lips taste like the iced tea she was drinking and like flavored gloss and he wonders randomly if kissing her is always going to be like this: simple, but at the same time, intoxicating. And he never wants to stop kissing her, especially when she opens her mouth to him and winds one hand behind his neck, pressing him closer enthusiastically, and the entire restaurant full of people surrounding them is nothing more than a dim memory.

"Hey loverboy, if you're finished up here, we could use the table," a voice from behind him startles them both.

Son of a bitch. Fucking busboys think they own New York.

Rachel's already pulling back and he's enjoying the hell out of her slightly dazed expression when she admits, "All right Noah, I have to admit you make a very compelling argument."

"Damn right I do," he rasps, trying to pull her in again, but she laughingly evades his hands.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe we _should _pursue this. We're both consenting adults after all," she smiles up at him. "I'm sure we can both agree to put our friendship first."

"I can be _very _friendly, baby," he smirks, trying his level best to sneak one hand up her dress under the table.

"Be serious, Noah!" she demands, trapping his hand with hers and looking him searchingly. "Your friendship is incredibly important to me."

For a second it feels exactly like she's knocked the wind out of him, but somehow in a_ really _good way.

"Me too Rach," he manages after a moment.

She nods like she sees what she was looking for. "So if you'd like to, you can pick me up from the theater tonight and we'll discuss some guidelines," she says as she stands to go, twisting the strap of her handbag nervously.

He has to bite back a grin because this is Rachel, so of course she's going to want to make up all kinds of rules.

"I can work with that," he assures her, placing his hand on her back and guiding her out the door. Well, _probably _he can. Actually, he's never been all that great with following rules, but as long as her guidelines allow him to see her naked again as early and as often as possible, he should be okay.

He kisses her again out on the street, right before they split up for their separate subway lines, and he_ knows _he could get used to the way she melts right into him.

She calls his name before he's gone ten steps.

"And then we're absolutely going to plan this shower, Noah Puckerman, so don't think you're going to distract me from that!"

"Wouldn't dream of it," he laughs.

Yeah, he's totally going to have a go at distracting her.

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><p><strong>AN: Remember back in chapter one when I said this was going to be two or three chapters? Well, I need at least one more to wrap this all up and I'm hoping no one will complain about the prospect of _more_ fic. However, I'm leaving for a family vacation to England in a couple of days, so the next update will be delayed until my return. I apologize in advance for the wait! **

**I hope you enjoyed this update, and I'd love to hear from you!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hello everyone! I'm excited to be back home and writing 'The Best Man' again. I also hope you enjoy smut, as that is apparently what my vacationing muse likes to write. ;) **

** A million thanks to everyone who has read, alerted, favorited and reviewed!**

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><p>"So unless there's anything you'd like to add?" she asks with an expectant expression on her face.<p>

It's almost like she thinks he's going to whip out a set of notes right there and then. Fuck, she's adorable. And maybe that's why he can't keep his eyes off her, even if he's seen this look on her a hundred times before, face scrubbed clean of the heavy stage makeup, hair up in a messy bun, a simple wrap dress tied on the side with a knot that his fingers are itching to undo. Or maybe he just likes the way she's looking up at him, leaning in, one hand on his forearm, definitely way more into his space than she normally is.

(He's going to go out on a limb and say there's a whole new normal now that he's seen her naked, though.)

"Noah, are you listening to me?" she demands, inching a little closer.

Um. Let's see. Doubling up on birth-control. Check. He hasn't done the dirty without a condom since he was clubbed over the head with the consequences of that particular act sophomore year of high school. And then there was something about not over-shadowing the wedding, which as far as he can figure out means that they aren't telling anyone. He's good with that because sneaky sex is fucking hot and also because he knows for a fact that as soon as Hudson finds out, his mother will somehow know something is up and worm it out of him. Mama P.'s cross-examinations trip Finn up every time and he loves his mother, but he doesn't want her camped out on his doorstep tomorrow with Rabbi Wiseman in tow. (Poor guy isn't getting any younger.)

Rachel also wants exclusivity while this lasts. He pokes at that one a little nervously, waiting for the familiar panic to rise up so he can tell it to shut the fuck up. But no, nothing. Which is...good. A little weird, but good. Finally, she comes up with some kind of no-fault escape clause that they can both access at any time and that one does provoke a reaction from him. He _really_ doesn't like it. The way he sees it, she's had a go at bailing once already, so what's the point of making it easier for her? She claims it's essential to preserving their friendship and doesn't seem to buy his counter-argument that lots of orgasms make people _better _friends.

Whatever. He can try her again later on that one.

"Absolutely babe. It's all good," he says, resisting the urge to ask when the hell he can start getting her naked, mostly because he's aware that his tone might slide dangerously close to whining. It's been like _two_ _hours_ since he picked her up at the stage door. First she dragged him to the TKTS bleachers in Times Square to hammer out the final details for the shower, which he semi-grudgingly admits was a smart move on her part since he's significantly less likely to start anything with her in the middle of several hundred tourists. (Give him time.) And then when they go back to her place (Tina's apparently pulling an all-nighter at the gallery she works at) they need to get through this crap, which don't get him wrong, is probably necessary and important and stuff.

Only, he's _dying _a little here.

Hopefully, she is too. Anyway, he's doing his best to make it damn hard for her to keep her hands off him. He leans in, tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear and takes in her bright eyes, the curve of her lips and the way one corner of her mouth quirks upwards, lingering on the flush spreading along her neck and chest, probably because the weather's still hot and humid as fuck, or possibly because his hand has moved to her hip and is fiddling with that knot.

"_Noah_," she breathes and just like that, his jeans are uncomfortably tight.

He reaches out to pull her closer and she laughingly evades him, stepping away and looking over her shoulder at him.

"It's ridiculously hot out. I'm going to go take a shower," she says casually and disappears towards the bathroom.

He's an idiot, so it takes him a minute or two to figure out what she's _not _saying. When he does, his shirt is off and hanging on a potted plant in the hallway before he knows what he's doing and he almost kills himself tripping over his pants as he tries to kick them off and get through the bathroom door at the same time.

Her clothes are neatly draped along the towel rack and he takes a moment to grin at the navy blue bra and panty set (what? the bows are cute) but only a moment because the shower is gently hissing and there's a naked girl behind that shower curtain that he needs to appreciate.

And god, she's just fucking perfect, with her head tilted back and water beading against her skin, and his grin is turning into a full-on smirk because he can just tell that she's working this performance just a little bit. Her eyes are closed and her hips are gently angled towards him and as he watches, her fingers trail up her flat stomach and graze the soft skin between her tits, drifting along to brush one nipple just like he wants to do...just like he's _going_ to do.

She opens her eyes slowly and smiles as he slips in beside her. "I was getting lonely in here."

"I thought you might be. Need a little help?" he asks gruffly because his throat is tight and it's almost hard to breathe. "Here." He reaches his arms around behind her and moves them lightly up her spine to the back of her neck and back down to span her waist. Turning her away from him to face the cool spray, he groans as she presses back into him, grinding into his erection.

"_Fuck, Rachel_," he mutters and she squeaks when he lightly tweaks her already pebbled nipples. Her head lolls back on his shoulder, and he dips his head to her shoulder and neck to nip and suck at the soft skin, leaving faint red marks in his wake that she's probably going to yell at him about tomorrow. He licks a few drops of water from the hollow above her collar bone and she's letting out a moan, the sound echoing loudly in the enclosed space, and she's writhing back again him restlessly and part of him wants to just push her up against the shower wall and slam into her. But at exactly the same time, he just wants to do _everything_ else with her too and his head is spinning with it.

Trust Rachel to have her head in the game, though.

She drags his hand down to between her legs, and she's wet, so fucking wet, warm and slick with arousal, even with the spray from the shower dripping down her.

"So good," he rasps in her ear, palming her mound while she presses herself against the heel of his hand.

"I touched myself tonight, Noah," she confesses throatily, twisting in his grasp so that she's facing him, canting her hips towards him as he runs one finger back and forth along her slit. "After the performance, in my dressing room in front of my mirror, I slid my hand in between my thighs and touched myself and pretended it was you."

"Oh god," he groans, grabbing her ass with his free hand and pulling her closer. "Were you turned on? Were your nipples hard, like this?" He dips his head and runs his tongue along one stiff bud, sucking hard and then switching to give the other the same treatment. "Did you watch yourself in that mirror, Rachel? All wet and open and gorgeous?" he asks against her neck, grinding against her hip. "Did you come, baby? Did you have to put one hand over your mouth to hold in all those hot little noises you make. Shit, I love those noises."

"No," she pants. "I didn't come. The stage manager knocked on my door, and then I had to meet you, so I had to wait. But the whole time, in the back of my mind...Noah, we had all those details we needed to discuss, but all I could think about was _you_."

His heart is beating so fucking fast because she just...she just _said _that. Like it's totally normal, like it's not going to make him even crazier about her than he already is, and all he know is that he doesn't want her to have to wait another second.

So, he presses two fingers inside her shallowly, his other arm wrapped tightly around her waist because her legs are buckling. It's quick, just four or five thrusts, his thumb just brushing alongside her clit and then she's trembling, the nails of one hand digging into his shoulder, the other braced against the wall, thrusting and coming hard against his hand.

"_Noah_," she cries out, and she reaches one hand behind his head, yanking his mouth down to hers, her body still rippling with the last pulses of her orgasm. The kiss is heated, rough even, but gradually turns into something more careful, more deliberate, even as his cock is so fucking hard he thinks he's going to lose his mind.

When she pulls away, her eyes are dark and hooded and she starts pressing little kisses along his chest, moving lower, nipping along his abs, tongue pausing to swirl around his bellybutton. At the same time, she's pushing him backwards, her tiny hands firm on his hips and he hisses as his back hits cold tile. And then she's on her knees in front of him and the expression on her face as she looks up at him is so promising that suddenly the wall is the only thing holding him up.

Her hand wraps around his length stroking slowly, and his eyes snap shut as he tangles one hand in her hair, racing through baseball stats and multiplication tables in his head, aching with the effort not to thrust forward. Her breath is hot against his thigh, and she gives a little questioning hum, the sound vibrating against his skin.

"Baby?" he asks, trying not to whine when her hand drops away, and then she kisses his tip, tongue darting out to sweep away the drop of fluid there. There's a dull thud as his hand swipes out to the side involuntarily, nearly knocking over a shampoo bottle and some girly-smelling body-wash, and this time, she giggles.

"Rach?" he asks again and looks down to see her regarding him thoughtfully.

"I was just thinking about something, Noah."

So was he and he's been thinking about it since he was thirteen, so..._oh god, oh fuck_, she licks a broad stripe down his shaft.

"Do you want to know what I was thinking about?" she asks innocently, drawing her nails lightly up and down his leg, making him shudder.

Honestly, what he wants is for her to suck his dick, but he's willing to do what it takes to get that done.

"Yeah. Tell me," he chokes out.

"I was remembering a time when someone told me that this...," and here she sinks her hot mouth down on him a few inches, her tongue flicking as she applies light suction and then she's pulling off and talking again, "...this wasn't such a good idea."

You've _got_ to be shitting him. What kind of asshole would say something like that?

"Something about vocal cords, I think?" she continues silkily.

_Right._ Now he wants to punch _himself_ in the nuts, but at the same time her lips stretch around him again, sliding up and down, taking him in a little more deeply each time, and that thought (not to mention the rest of his mental capacity) is completely gone.

"What do you think, Noah? Is this a bad idea? Should I stop?"

_What? Is she...? _

"No, no, no _baby_, it's a _fantastic_ idea, don't stop," he begs.

Shut up. If Rachel Berry's pink, plump lips were an inch from your junk, you'd beg too.

She smirks (which is _insanely _hot), and engulfs all of him, quickly finding her rhythm, putting all that intensity and drive to good use, and within a very few minutes it's totally obvious that this is going to beat out every fantasy of her he's ever had. When she swallows around him, he absolutely can't stop himself from thrusting forward a little. She blinks and pulls back to swirl her tongue along the head in a way that is going to have him exploding down her throat in a second.

"No wait..._Rach_...fuck, I wanna be inside you when I come," he gasps, pulling out.

She smiles up at him, but there's a hint of a challenge there too. "Do you really think this is your only opportunity, Noah? I mean, perhaps it's just an assumption on my part, but we do have all night after all."

Well, when she puts it like that...

She takes him in all the way to the back her throat and does it again, tightening around him.

"Baby," he warns her, just in case he's reading her signals wrong, but she just moans and the vibrations finish him off and he feels it all the way down to his toes and it's fucking intense and _so fucking good_ and it's a long time before he can do anything ambitious like, say, move or talk.

They do eventually manage to make it out of the shower before either of them drown and he spends the rest of the night showing her exactly how right she was about opportunities. (And somewhere in there, he makes her beg a little too, just to keep things even. She doesn't seem to mind.)

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><p>When he wakes up in the morning, he buries his head into her shoulder and breathes deeply before wrapping one arm around her and going back to sleep.<p>

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><p><strong>AN: Next up: a plot! story momentum! character development! probably a little more smut! I'd love to know what you think!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: So we've made it to the final chapter. Thanks so much for reading and especially for all your encouragement. **

**Additionally, yesterday I found out that I've been nominated for several Puckleberry FanFiction awards. From the bottom of my heart, thank you! I am truly honored to have my writing recognized by you!**

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><p><strong>The Best Man: Chapter Five<strong>

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><p>Monday afternoon she meets him at work and they have lunch together at this Italian place around the corner. It's probably not a date, because they've had lunch there before, maybe two or three times over the last two years, and this doesn't feel all that different.<p>

They talk about work for a while; she loses her shit when he tells her about the well-known singer sitting in on the sessions with that jazz trio he's been working with and makes him promise to get her an autograph, and he laughs his ass off when she delivers an update on Bernardo and the head costume designer (two words: orchestra pit). After that they gently snark about the likelihood of Finn and Tina making out when the City Clerk pronounces them hitched; they both agree that there will be tongue, but he goes one step further and predicts that Finn will lose his head and go for a little ass-grab.

It's easy, it's comfortable, it's almost like nothing has changed.

Then again, maybe things are different, because for one she lets him pick up the check (no biggie, since practically all she ate was _arugula_), and also because he takes her home and rails her up against the inside of his apartment door because neither of them can wait for even as long as it would take to make it to the bedroom.

On his way back in to work he shoots a wink at Esther who's been office manager since the studio was founded in 1967. It's half his standard greeting and half '_please don't mention my three-hour lunch break to the boss_'. She winks back and suggests that he turn his shirt right-side out.

When he tells her about it later, Rachel, of course, thinks it's _hilarious_.

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><p>She sends him a series of increasingly pissed-off texts on Wednesday night, but he's in the sound booth until 10:30 and his coverage is shit on the subway and then she doesn't answer right away, so he isn't able to get hold of her until he's walking into his building.<p>

"Rach, what's wrong?" he asks her and she starts pouring out this story about her understudy and the girl who plays Maria, and to be honest, it's not making much sense, but maybe that's because he's got the phone pressed to his ear with his shoulder while he tries to unlock the door. He finally manages it, waves vaguely at Finn and Tina in the living room, and walks straight to his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Flopping down on the bed, he begins to make some sense of the situation. Basically, 'Maria' is a bitch whose main preoccupation in life seems to be making Rachel miserable. This week's attempt stems around her trying to convince Rachel's understudy to take advantage of Rachel's days off for the wedding to convince the director to drop Rachel. She's just a massive shit-disturber of course; that plan has zero chance of succeeding but the understudy came running to Rachel in tears and crap's been flying back and forth between the dressing rooms all day.

And the thing is that Rachel is fucking amazing, but she's never been all that great with that girl-on-girl aggression shit.

"She's just jealous of you baby," he says soothingly. "She fucking knows that you're the best." Totally true and _almost _everyone knows it.

"Well, I know _that_, Noah! I told her as much when I said that the only reason she got the part is because her uncle is the producer. And then I said that if she doesn't cut the crap then those pictures of her from the last cast party would go into circulation."

"Pictures?" he asks. He was at that party and he doesn't remember anything too out of hand. But then again, Rachel was still with Eric-the-cheating-dickhead at that point, so he might have been too busy glaring to notice.

"Oh, there aren't any as far as I know," she explains airily, "but _somebody _seems to have a guilty conscience. That stopped her in her very slightly nasal tracks, anyway."

Well, shit. Seems like she's kind of gotten a handle on things since high school.

"So what are you so upset about?" he asks.

"That witch insulted Patti Lupone! And I've always felt a real connection to Ms. Lupone ever since..."

"Ever since sophomore year when you thought she was your mom for about ten minutes," he interrupts.

"You remember that?" she says with surprise.

"Babe, you announced it in study hall. Sure, I didn't know who the hell Patti Lupone was at the time, but you were wearing a navy blue dress and when Kurt called you deluded, you whirled around and I definitely caught a glimpse of panty."

"_Noah Puckerman!_You did not!" she pouts. (He's pretty sure that at least some of that shock is manufactured.)

"Light blue with gold stars? Fucking awesome. Classic Rachel Berry." This time she giggles, which is what he was going for. "You feeling better now? Want me to come over?"

"Mmmm. Much better, Noah. I think I just needed someone to vent to. And you don't have to come over. I know you have an early start tomorrow, so I'll just finish my bath and go to bed."

Oh that is so not fair.

"You've been_ naked_ the entire time you've been on the phone and you didn't tell me? Damn it, Rachel, _this _is the kind of shit we should be making rules about."

There's a pause and then she asks, "How soon can you get over here?"

Finn waves him down on his way back out the door.

"Hey man, Tina just put in_ Showgirls _and I made popcorn. You should totally watch with us."

_So_ _much_ to mock right there, but it doesn't even slow him down. Even if he wasn't on his way to Rachel's place, that one is just too easy.

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><p>Rachel shows up at his place on Saturday morning in a pair of cut-offs and and one of his plaid shirts that she borrowed for painting a year ago tied in a knot about a centimeter above her belly button.<p>

She's _obviously _trying to kill him.

Unfortunately even though his dick is making plans to take her back to his room and keep her busy there for the rest of the day, the rest of him knows that's probably not on this morning's agenda. Tina is moving her shit over because even though she and Finn want to get their own place, that's easier said than done in New York City. They're still looking and may be for a while, but as far as he's concerned, it's just a formality, because if home is where you keep your tampons, Tina's been living here for like a year and a half.

(And if Rachel happens to get lonely there across town, she has him on speed-dial.)

She's in the kitchen now, standing up on tip-toes, rearranging shit in the cupboards and he goes over to help her.

"You're not really helping me, Noah," she says matter-of-factly.

"I could be," he mumbles against her neck, while one finger slides along the inch of exposed flesh at her mid-section.

"I'm trying to make some room here. Is it really necessary to have Frosted Flakes, Frosted Mini-Wheats _and_ Frosted Cheerios?" she says, with a bit of a hitch in her voice when he slips under her shirt, his palm spreading out on her stomach. He smiles and she continues, "And don't tell me it's because you like sweet things for breakfast."

At this point she knows exactly what he likes _best _for breakfast and it isn't cereal.

He brushes the button of her shorts, not really working to get it open, just tugging at it a little, and her hand comes down on top of his, but he doesn't find out whether she's going to move it away or push it lower (after this week, either seems like a possibility) because there's a banging noise and they both spin around to see Tina struggling in with two big boxes and a canvas in her arms. Rachel rushes over to help her and there's nothing one way or the other to tell him how much Tina saw.

After that Rachel kind of keeps her distance anyway or maybe it's just that Finn keeps him busy lugging furniture around.

She takes off around noon to get a few things ready for the shower tonight, and he can't kiss her the way he wants to, so he settles for whispering 'later' in her ear when she brushes her lips against his cheek.

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><p>All right, he was wrong about this party, he can totally admit that. It's just that he had this picture in his head of balloons and hats made out of bows and questions about 'making whoopee' from that crappy game-show from the '70s. So to start with, Rachel's plan to commandeer a bunch of tables at one of their favorite bars was awesome and the crowd that he raided Finn and Tina's phone contacts to invite are basically just the friends they hang out with regularly anyway.<p>

What he definitely doesn't expect is the amount of lingerie the girls are unwrapping and squealing over at one end of the table. (Rachel's gift consists of thigh-high stockings and a corset and he wants to know why the hell he wasn't invited on _that _shopping trip.) And that's not all they're unwrapping. Let's just say that a few people decided to give _toys _and those get passed around too. He ends up heading to the bar for another drink because he can't stop wondering if Rachel has one, and if so, when does she use it, and under what circumstances would she let him watch her use it...

Let's just say he's at the bar for a while.

When he gets back, the seating arrangement is switched up and he slides into an empty seat next to Rachel. She's all flushed and expansive and gesturing way more than she should with a margarita glass in her hand while she shares some story with the group.

"High-school? _No, no, no._ I think probably everyone dated everyone else in our little circle _except _for Finn and Tina!" she laughs. "But I think the real story of how they finally got together is a little too R-rated to share!"

Of course Finn is beet-red and trying to change the subject but since he's currently wearing one of Tina's new silk stockings tied around his head like a bandana, no one is taking him all that seriously, and they're all hollering for Rachel to continue.

"All right, all right," she says, polishing off her drink and holding up her hands in mock surrender. "Senior year of college, Tina and I were back from NYU for winter-break and Noah threw this huge party for everyone. Of course, like all of Noah's parties, it got a little wild..."

"Hey, how wild could it be without spin-the-bottle and drunk-ass karaoke?" he teases, but she shushes him and rests her hand on his thigh under the table.

"...and at some point, I lost track of Tina. I went upstairs looking for her, only to find Noah bolting out of his bedroom with this look of complete terror on his face."

He can't let that one pass unchallenged. "Terror? Hell no! Squeamishness, maybe. If I had known I was going to be walking in on it for the next two and a half years, I probably would have freaked out even more," he says, shutting up only when she squeezes his leg.

"So naturally, I went to investigate, only to find Finn stark naked, covered from head to toe in these beautiful lines and swirls of multi-colored body paint. I have to admit, it was something of a shock, but not nearly as shocking as seeing Tina start to lick it off!" she says. Her hand seems to burn right through the denim of his jeans and then she starts to inch higher and trace patterns up and along the inside seam and _fuuuuck_. He stops her hand with his own, carefully linking their fingers together under the table.

"All part of the moment," Tina says dreamily from Finn's side. "I was making a statement about the transient and ephemeral nature of art. Also, I liked his smile."

"_Awww_, babe, I love it when you talk art," Finn coos, and kisses her.

Everyone whoops and cheers, and over the next few minutes a half-dozen side conversations pick up. The waitress arrives with another round of drinks and most of the group gets up to dance and in a few minutes, no one is paying any attention to them at all.

He hasn't moved a muscle; it's like he's frozen in place. They both are, shoulders just barely brushing, holding hands under the table like a pair of middle school kids.

He knows exactly what he _should _be doing right now.

What he should be doing is whispering something in her ear, something dirty, something that makes her blush, something that makes her press her legs together because of the ache between her thighs. He knows this. How this plays out is that he'll work his way up her skirt and stroke her through her panties, tease her a little bit, until her eyes are glazed and her breathing gets shallow. From there, he'll slide one finger under the elastic and touch her softly, just to see if she's wet (she'll be wet, she'll be _soaked_) and then he'll ignore her little whine when he pulls away.

He _should_ throw her a wink, whisper a suggestion that she meet him in the bathroom, and when she joins him (he thinks she will, it's been three days and if she's feeling this_ half _as much as he is, she's starting to crave him) he'll wedge the door shut. He'll prop her up on the counter-top between the sinks and dive between her thighs, taste her sweetness, take her up so high he'll have to peel her off the ceiling when she comes. And then he'll roll a condom on, bend her over the vanity and press into her, watching her eyes in the mirror as he fills her up.

He'll kiss and suck at the delicate skin where her shoulder and neck meet and she'll gasp and arch back into him when he palms her tits, her nipples rock-hard under his hands. When she can't hold back her moans, when she starts to tremble and flutter against him, he'll find her slick little clit and press, rubbing tight circles around it. She'll push back into his thrusts and orgasm again, hard, and he'll be right behind her, pulsing into the condom.

It's all right there; what he _should _be doing.

But instead of working on getting his dick wet, he's just sitting here, ridiculously happy simply to be holding her hand.

It kind of all hits him at once. _ He is so fucked. _

Now he's sweating and something is curling low in his stomach, but it isn't arousal, it's panic, because if there's one thing that he knows, it's that he always, _always_, get slapped down for this shit and just like that he's up and out of his chair. He throws out some kind of lame-ass excuse and slips away, avoiding her gaze.

You can't say he's running away, not exactly, not when he doesn't leave the building. He throws cold water on his face in the bathroom, waiting for his heart to stop pounding in his chest and trying to ignore the images of _Rachel-in-a-bar-restroom _now stuck on a continuous loop in his head. When he feels slightly less like puking, he walks out, reaching for some of that swagger that he knows he can own. And then he just keeps busy in whatever corner of the place she's not in.

A while later, he's half-watching the game from a little table in the corner.

"Jesus, you're an idiot," Finn says, flopping down in the next seat and pushing a cold bottle of beer towards him.

"Good to see you too Hudson. Glad you're enjoying the party," he returns moodily.

Finn rolls his eyes. "It's a great party. So tell me again why you're hiding back here?"

He takes a swallow from the bottle and nods up towards the television. "Game's on."

"Oh yeah? What's the score? Hell, who's playing? No, I think I know what you're watching." Finn gestures over to the dance floor where Tina and Rachel are dancing. Rachel's got one arm around Tina's neck and both girls are laughing and Puck's gut tightens again and he has to look away.

"I dunno what you're talking about." And he doesn't. This is Finn after all. He could be talking about _anything_.

"No? How about this? Do you ever wonder what the hell you're doing in New York?" Finn asks, with a half smile on his face that kind of makes him want to punch the guy.

"Fuck," he shrugs irritably. "Lima's just...I couldn't stick around there. You know that."

"Sure," Finn agrees easily. "But why not L.A.? Chicago? Miami? Why New York?"

His eyes move automatically to find Rachel still on dance-floor. She's twirling and her hands are twisted in her hair, pulling it off her neck, and he knows it's got to be all over his face, plain enough even for Finn to read.

"And Tina and I both agree that there's a reason why you've hated _all_ her boyfriends," Finn continues.

"That's because they've all been douchebags!"

"Not all of them! Joel was kind of awesome! I mean, how many professional athletes do you know who play in a band?"

"_Semi-Pro!_And practically the only place his so-called band played was on the subway platform, so I don't think that counts. Whose side are you on anyway?"

Finn smacks him lightly on the back of the head. "_Yours._ And hers. Rachel's been one of my best friends for years. And you're my Best Man, right? So I figure I kind of owe it to you not to let you screw this up."

He scowls and scrubs a hand through his short hair. "Shit, Hudson, what do you think there is between Rachel and me? What is it exactly you think I'm going to screw up?"

Really. He kind of wants to know.

"I think you're doing your best right now to screw up whatever you've had going with her for the last two weeks." At his look of surprise, Finn laughs. "I'm not blind, dude. Or deaf, and Rachel's always been kinda loud."

And now he just wants to hit him again.

"Look Puck, I don't know why you two are sneaking around, any more than I know why you're pouting in the corner right now when clearly you're ass over tit in love with her, but seriously, if you want to be with her, _just tell her_ you want to be with her."

"Maybe it's not that simple. Maybe it's Rachel," he mutters, watching her fly around a group of departing guests, standing up all the way on her tip-toes to hug one of Tina's painter friends. (_Dick._)

"Could be. I mean it only stands to reason that not everyone is going to fall for that bad-boy shit," Finn says seriously and then breaks into a grin when Puck punches his arm. "Thing is, you're never gonna know unless you take a chance. Or are you just planning on sitting on the sidelines the next time some guy comes around to try and sweep her off his feet?"

Yeah, it's '_no_' on that one. In fact, it pisses him off just to think about it, a fact which Hudson damn well knows. He stares at him with a certain sick fascination.

"I can't believe you're giving me dating advice," he mutters.

Finn leans back in his chair, links his fingers behind his head and snorts. "I can't believe you're taking dating advice from me."

He's a little nervous when he goes to find her, but she just smiles sleepily at him and says, "You're back."

"The place is clearing out. I wanted to make sure you got home all right."

"I called a cab," she replies. "It should be here in a few minutes."

"Okay," he shrugs, digging his hands into his pockets.

"You can come home with me if you want," she adds quietly.

"Yeah?" he asks as a smile (probably a relieved one) washes over his face, "That'd be good."

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><p>He thinks about what Finn said later that night, like <em>way later<em>, when she's naked and curled up on his chest. He knows she's asleep; he's called her name twice and found her ticklish spot along her side, just under her ribcage and nothing, just the even tide of her breath.

"I wanna be with you," he whispers, and then because he knows that's really just a place-holder, "_I love you_."

It actually sounds pretty good.

Maybe at some point he can work on saying it when she's awake.

For now, he just wakes her up by kissing his way down her body and does his best to show her.

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><p>The wedding goes off without a hitch.<p>

(Come on. With Rachel Berry in charge, would it even dare not to?)

Tina looks half-futuristic, half old-fashioned and all awesome with paper flowers and ribbons and tiny mirrors sewn all over her dress. Finn absolutely goes for ass-grab and Puck _has to_ wink at Rachel who's laughing over her bouquet in her gorgeous green dress.

The food's good (he's going to take personal responsibility for that, even if all he did was call to confirm the caterers) and the cake is fucking delicious. Tina and Rachel both _moan _over the chocolate mocha ganache filling and he'd give them way more shit about it, if, you know, his pants weren't so tight all of a sudden.

His speech goes over well, probably because Rachel went through it and suggested that he take out about half the swear words and all the jokes about strippers. (Some of those were _gold_ though.) Finn tears up a little when he talks about friendship, but at some point tonight he'll take him aside and remind him that they're still living in the _same damn apartment_. And then he'll probably hug him or at least punch his arm really hard because without this whole wedding thing, maybe he'd still be staring at Rachel's legs instead of sneaking a hand over her ass while they dance in the flickering light of five hundred stupid fucking candles.

(Sure, it looks romantic and shit, but he was the one who nearly burnt his thumb off lighting them all.)

They spin around again and Mrs. Cohen-Chang is eying him approvingly and he thinks maybe he doesn't even have to worry about Finn running his mouth to Ma, the next time the two mothers run into each other in the grocery store will probably take care of that.

He finds he doesn't mind.

And that's all about the way Rachel cornered him between the ceremony and the reception, pulling him into an alcove with the transparent excuse that she needs to straighten his tie. (Don't think he doesn't notice that while Rachel and Tina get to wear whatever the hell they want, he and Finn are stuck in monkey suits.) He's grinning stupidly because of course he's assuming she needs a little taste of the Puckerone to get her through the next couple hours.

Instead she shocks the shit out of him.

"Are you my boyfriend?" she asks him, tugging on his tie and smoothing his lapel. "Because it's been a month and while initially I was worried that whatever we had together in the bedroom..."

_And_ the bathroom. _And _the kitchen. _And _back stage in her dressing room with the door locked and her with the back of her hand tight against her mouth to hold back her moans...whoa! Pay attention!

"...both proven that one doesn't necessarily have to preclude the other. And honestly, _friends-with-benefits _is just tacky, Noah."

She's kind of fierce. It's fucking _hot_.

He's got her pressed back against the wall in an instant, opening her mouth with his own, giving her a little of that fierceness right back.

"Is that a yes?" she breathes against his ear when he dips to nose along her jawline, nibble on her earlobe.

"Yeah. Fuck yes." _Just say it, asshole, _he tells himself. But she's twined her arms around his neck and pulled his face back down to hers and neither of them says anything for a while.

So now he's dancing at his best-friend's wedding with his _girlfriend_. (Tina and Finn are whispering and giggling in their direction and Finn actually gives him a thumbs up. Dork.) And you know it's not all that different from the way he felt last week, or the first time they had sex last month, or hell, the three years he spent watching her sing her heart out on a stage he wasn't sure he's ever be good enough to share with her.

"I want to be with you, Rach," he says just loud enough for her to hear, skating his hand along the bare skin of her back.

He still hasn't said the other one yet. But the way she's looking at him, all soft and happy and shining, he knows it's just a matter of time.

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><p><em>End<em>

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><p><strong>AN: Again, thank you! I'd love to know what you think!**


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